Silent Rain: The Origin Of Hoodie
by TheSirenMonster
Summary: A man-made monster, molded in the thick clay of selfishness, anger and malice. My own take on Hoodie's origin, because there really isn't much on this guy, and that he is very mysterious in my eyes. I DO NOT OWN the Creepypasta Hoodie! This is JUST a take on what kind of person I thought Hoodie was before he became murderous. Contains violence, abuse, gore, and anger issues.


_What is the story behind this man? This mysterious entity that wears a hood over his head to hide from the world? Searching constantly through the nights of different locations, marching through those that oppose his goal, what's making this monster tick with rage? What does he want?_

* * *

**(6 years ago...)**

"Why the fuck would you do that, Katelyn?!"

A young, too-early-to-be-parents of a single Daughter fought at each other one Winter night, out in the midst of Wyoming's beautiful but snow-clouded countryside, in a farmhouse together at the midst of December. A full-blown confession had finally escaped the lips of 17-year-old Katelyn Mathers', that would wrench at the committed relationship of her's and Wyatt Hewitt's - her 17-year-old boyfriend.

"Who's the other guy, then?!" Wyatt screamed at his girlfriend, irrationally. "How long has this been goin' on?!"

Katelyn was frightened of her boyfriend's behavior now. His random, aggressive mood-swings had begun to spiral out of control, ever since he had become a new parent to new-born Earlene. Not a lot of people knew of these things from Wyatt, being such a homebody. "W-Wyatt..." She bravely tried her best to explain more. "... He's more rational, kinder and calmer than you are, Wyatt... You scare me to death everyday, with your anger issues. I can't risk bein' hurt, while we've got little Earley to be good parents to!"

But the talk made Wyatt just grit his teeth. "So you went and fucked another man, huh? Just to make a point, RIGHT?!" Wyatt was physically shaking with rage. "You fuckin'...!"

"Wyatt, I can't live with you." Katelyn finally admitted. Wyatt's eyes grew wide, his heart almost skipping a beat. "If it means to keep myself and Earlene safe... then I'm goin' to move back with Mom and Dad, in the city..." After saying that, Katelyn turned, and left to the bedroom hallway. She was heading to the bedroom she and Wyatt shared - baby Earlene was sound asleep in there, in her rocking crib.

She was going to leave with Earlene...

"NO, YOU FUCKIN' DON'T!" Wyatt bolted at a startled Katelyn, and immediately grabbed her by the back of her ponytail, and wretched her backwards, throwing her down to the floor. She landed hard on her back, letting out a pained yelp. Wyatt's parents weren't home at the time he and Katelyn were arguing... "Maybe I can't be perfect for some two-faced chick... but I'm goin' to keep Earley with me! WITH... ME!" He hissed violently, swooping down to grab at his girlfriend's neck with both his large hands.

She gasped in horror, and grabbed at his wrists instantly, trying to pry him off. "W-Wyatt! STOP IT!" She screeched with desperation.

But no, Wyatt didn't listen to his terrified girl. She continued to struggle, kicking her feet to try and throw Wyatt off, but to no prevail. He was too strong. "She ain't leavin'!" He stared straight into Katelyn's watery eyes with furious ones, before he gripped tight at her throat, and began choking her to death.

After what felt likes hours in just short minutes, Katelyn stopped struggling, laying limp on the floor, eyes glassy and lifeless. Staring blankly into his dead girlfriend's eyes for a long moment, while her still hands slid off of his wrists, collapsing on the floor beneath her. Everything halted for that moment of silence, making himself realize what he had done.

Katelyn was dead.

And after three minutes of utter silence paced slowly through his mind, the soft whimpers of baby Earlene came from the bedroom. She had woken, finding herself alone in the bedroom. Her tiny feet kicked slightly to the blanket covering her up, as the upbringing of her noisy crying was about to rise... Until the glow of the yellow hallway light poured into the room, with a push of the bedroom opening.

"Earlene..." Wyatt poked his head into the room from behind the door. Seeing his face made the infant calm down slightly, her whining quieting some. "... Don't worry. Daddy's here. He'll always be here, for now on..." He smiled shamefully at his baby Daughter.

* * *

**(6 Years Later...)**

"I don't like the looks of that truck out there. It's drove back 'n forth here twice now."

The 40-year-old farmer, named Russell Hewitt, stood at the curtain-closed window in the large living room, peeking out the slit of the shades to look out the pane, and see a familiar blue truck driving through the dirt road, at a far distance from his farm. But, it made him uneasy nonetheless. He's been seeing that same truck for the past two weeks now.

"Thought I was just imaginin' things; thinkin' there was just a lot of people with blue beat-up trucks these days, but, ah..." The old man shook his head, drawing back his hand from the blinds to close them. "It ain't no coincidence that e'erybody's got a blue truck, I'm tellin' ya! That driver wants somethin', I reckon..." He grumbled to himself, walking across the living room floor to the doorway of the kitchen, seeing his Wife there. "Bet it's a bunch of robbers or somethin' plannin'..."

"Oh, Russell. Don't say such things!" Russell's 38-year-old Wife snapped lightly at him, before turning off the faucet of the sink and drying her hands off with her apron. "You'll be keepin' me up all night with all that talk."

"I'm serious, Caroline," Russell deadpanned at Caroline Hewitt. "Those people're up to no good."

Caroline just shook her head, rolling her gray eyes. "Just don't go on sayin' things like that in front of Wyatt and Earlene now, alright? Don't want to upset the lil' tyke and her Pa."

"Oh," Looking around the living room behind him, and then at the emptied bedroom hallway, Russell made a questioned look. "Where are those two?"

"They're both out in the barn, feedin' the horses, remember?" Caroline answered, patting her Husband on his burly shoulder before she walked into the living room to sit at her easy chair. "I'm sure they're both fine." She picked up her new book from the side-table.

* * *

Out in the barn, as Caroline said before, the young 23-year-old Wyatt was feeding the horses with his Daughter, 6-year-old Earlene Hewitt. The two had been out there for only a short time, spending most of their free time out in the pasture, standing up new scarecrows in their field. Most of the scarecrows weren't standing right, usually because of the ugly straw men being too overweight for the posts, or the hooks wouldn't adjust and lock tightly. Wyatt had fixed them, teaching Earlene a thing-or-two on how to make the scarecrows look in good shape or in-posture.

Earlene had grown to a healthy young girl, with long, wavy blonde hair, and big gray eyes. She had the beautiful complexion of... Katelyn... but most of her given features - hair color, skin color, and eyes were Wyatt's. She had never once questioned why she didn't have a Mommy, but perhaps it was because she wasn't at that age yet. The age of knowing that her Mother was absent. All she knew was that Daddy and her Grandparents were there, and that was all that seriously mattered to the tyke.

"Them horses are well-fed now. Don't wanna over-feed 'em now." Wyatt said to his cheery Daughter, taking her small hand into his large hand. "Now, c'mon. We've got to go and see what the funny chickens are doin'." The two strolled out of the large opening of the barn together, Earlene occasionally bouncing up-and-down on her feet jovially as she walked with her Dad. "You still don't like the pigs, huh?" Wyatt asked with a raise of his brow at Earlene.

And of course, Earlene made a sour face to that question. "No! Those piggies're all stinky and fat... and mean!" She swung Wyatt's arm back and forth with her's. "I fell into the pit last time, remember? Mister Hooves almost got me..."

It was true. Back about a month ago, Earlene had foolishly stood on the wooden fence of the pig's pen while trying to feed them. She lost her footing, and fell face-first into the dangerous pit of the pigs' territory. The hefty pig of the bunch, named Mister Hooves, went rapid and charged at Earlene to attack her for being startled. But, to her rescue, Wyatt jumped into the pen, in front of Earlene to block her, and threw a good kick to Mister Hooves' snout. The fat pig ran off squealing, while Wyatt picked up Earlene in his arms and climbed back out of the pen, lucky to still have their skin.

"What happened to him, anyways?" Earlene asked, as the two approached the chicken coop area, blocked off by a linked-fence, continuing with their amicable conversation.

Wyatt rose his eyebrows to the question, frowning ever-so slightly. "Well, uh, Earley... Mister Hooves was bad before, and I had to ship him off elsewhere, to a different farm."

"Oh." Earlene only answered. She didn't get the message, though.

After what had happened, Wyatt was extremely furious and angered by the animal. Out of spite, behind his old man's back, Wyatt went out to the pig pen by himself during nightfall, with a hacksaw, and slaughtered Mister Hooves. He did it in his own, "unique" way, that even Father would disagree fully to. Wyatt mercilessly stabbed the pig to death, hacking at the fat hog's temple repeatedly until it stopped making its ear-piercing squealing and mewling for mercy from the barn.

When it was down, bloodied and deformed with the deep stab-wounds, Wyatt skinned the animal and collected its meat for next week's dinner.

Earlene wouldn't know that her Dad was a very tempered young man. Anger issues always flourished in his mind like a barbaric, steaming migraine. When he became too angered, he would find a room to let it all out, with fresh punches jabbed into the weak walls, or screaming to himself with his face buried in a pillow. It didn't help that he was physically strong, being a walking threat.

A childhood full of stressful working and strict parenting - with an unappreciative Father of whatever Wyatt did to try and make him proud, and a disciplining Mother with a belt. Never getting what he always wanted best for himself - made Wyatt's teen-hood pent with rage and innermost fury. He's been a lion in a cage.

He hit his Father once, when the two were arguing about God-knows-what that soon became apex. He bruised the old man harshly, but not to where he had to be rushed to the hospital. Russell delivered a couple of sharp punches at his Son for the wounds, equaling each others' grudges. Russell didn't hate his Son for the fight. He just downright hated his anger issues he couldn't handle on his own. He would tell him to get a grip, talk to a professional, and find his answers.

But then, what about Earlene? What if something were to happen to her, if anyone figured out his issues? As much as Earlene was in the same danger-zone as her Grandparents, Wyatt always swore he'd never lay a finger on his little girl. And he had kept his promise ever since she was born and grown. Earlene felt no threat of being around her agitated Dad. She loved him too much to find any sort of fear.

Wyatt loved that girl to death. Ever since her Mother had "disappeared," Wyatt dedicated his life to Earlene. He wasn't perfect. There was still so much to fix that hadn't been repaired, but he did have hopes. Wyatt was a grown man full of grudges and loathe, but he did regret many things he had done. But, one of those things he would NEVER regret is keeping Earlene.

* * *

"Hey, Wyatt," Russell looked over at his Son, across the dinner table, after swallowing down the food in his mouth. "You've seen that blue truck, too, right?"

"Russell..." Caroline stared at her Husband sharply with a stern look.

Wyatt stopped for a moment from stabbing his food with his fork and glanced up at his Father. He knitted his brows. "I don't think I pay attention to any of 'em city-folks cars passin' by here, Pa." He then looked back to his plate of food, stabbing a piece of broccoli. "Whaddya sayin' about it?" He asked anyhow, before eating.

It was nightfall, and the entire family was inside their humble abode, eating prepared dinner Caroline had finished making - hot beef stew.

"There's been a truck out there lately. I've been seein' it too many times now." Russell said. "I've been seein' it so much, I always recognize the nasty dent its got at the back. I ain't imaginin' things, either!"

"I told you to not bring it up to 'em, hon," Caroline huffed at her Husband, stirring at her bowl of beef stew in slight irritation.

But Wyatt dismissively waved it off as just imagination. "Ah, it ain't nothin', old timer. Bet it's just doin' somethin' else."

"What... 'else'?" Earlene innocently tried saying the second word properly, while pushing at the vegetables in her stew she tried avoiding.

Wyatt looked at his Daughter, narrowing his eyes at her, with a big smile. "None of your business, nosy." He joked lightly at Earlene.

Earlene felt her button nose with her hand, offended, before she wrinkled it at Wyatt. "No, you've got a big nose." Earlene retorted, making her Grandparents laugh bubbly to that comment.

Wyatt just rolled his eyes with a smirk, wrinkling his pointy nose, too. "But, anyways, Dad... It ain't nothin'. Probably just deliverin' things..." He posit once more.

Russell didn't like the excuse. He even huffed to it. "Then it should be a semi-truck passin' through. Not a little ol' bed-truck."

After an interesting dinner time, and washing the day off with a bath, Wyatt got Earlene prepared for bedtime.

While the folks were in the living room watching a late show on their television set, Wyatt was in his Daughter's bedroom, after she finished putting on her nightgown. Every night, around 8 o' clock, Wyatt would be there to tell Earlene a bedtime story, talk about their day, or comb her hair until she fell asleep. Tonight, Wyatt was there to talk with Earlene, and her day.

"But, Dad," Earlene begun, while Wyatt was pulling the bed blanket over her, as she laid down. "What if Grandpa is right?"

"'Bout what?" Wyatt asked, sitting down on the floor, still at her bedside.

"About the blue truck. What if there's somethin' fishy goin' on with those people?"

"Oh..." Wyatt just petted Earlene's forehead, brushing her sided bangs off her brow. "You don't need to worry about a thing, baby-doll. If anythin' goes a-bump in the night, you'll know I'll be comin' to watch out for you, don't-cha?"

Earlene smiled to that. "Okay..."

* * *

But even the biggest promises can never be kept sealed.

Around midnight, when everything was still and silent, the shining lights of a vehicle pulled up quietly in front of the farm house. When the headlights went out, everything remained still, quietly holding its breath. As the vulnerable family slept without knowledge of what was to come, the strangers outside exited the blue truck with masks over their faces, and matching large jackets slipped on with black gloves, the gang of three had gone off to the porch of the house.

"Hey, man," One of the assailants whispered over to another. "You sure about this? What if we're wrong about this place?"

The man made an irritated glare at the thoughtfully worried accomplice. "You havin' second-thoughts, or are we going to do this?" He shoved at the man's shoulder. "Listen - we rob these old people, and get the fuck out. Just like any place we've vandalized in the city - 'cept no one will hear us this time." This man was obviously the leader, able to talk down this taller man as if he were a dog. He looked over to the third man, that was picking at the lock of the front door.

Easily picking open the lock, the lockpicker carefully grabbed at the doorknob, turned, and lightly pushed opened the door. There was no sound from the hinges, which gave a good sign to the three robbers to stealthily tip-toe into the farmhouse. When they were in, they left the front door opened, in case they needed to make a quick escape if any of the folks woke up to any noise.

It was impossible to hear the three sneak inside, but, Wyatt had woke.

A bad feeling from his Father's sightings of that mysterious blue truck churned in the pit of his stomach, that made him want to get up from bed and go out his bedroom, just to check up on the place. But, before he did, he heard something outside the door that sounded like an unrecognizable man murmuring something back to another. Wyatt's eyes grew wide as saucers, and his heart was racing. He swallowed back acid in panic, carefully stepping back from the door.

"Dude, you hear that?" One of the nervous robbers asked the other. Wyatt listened as well, and heard the steady snores of his Father's in the bedroom next door.

"Yeah... Think it's that old timer snorin'... Don't go in that bedroom there. Just go into the other ones." The other instructed.

Listening attentively to the sounds of the burglars walking and scouting the house's interior, there was a familiar sound of a certain door clicking open. Wyatt knew that recognizable door click from anywhere, and his face went pale. His heart leaped into his throat, when he realized that it was Earlene's door.

Quickly, Wyatt went for his metal bat that sat in the corner of the room, and quietly paced back to his closed door.

On the other side, in the bedroom hallway, Earlene had woken from the feeling of her throat dry. She talked so much with her Dad before bed, she needed to go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water. She stood at her bedroom doorway, rubbing at her tired, puffy eyes while taking an inhalation of air through her nostrils. She had no clue that there were strangers in their very house.

Not until one of the robbers appeared.

In a opened bedroom, next door to Earlene's, a robber named Louis finished bagging as much valuable items he could find and paced out of the room quickly to get back into the living room. But, once he took that step outside the bedroom, he had accidentally ran into little Earlene.

The two, looking at each other now, in utmost shock and horror, were now exposed. Earlene stood there in quaking fear, arms down to her sides and her breathing was held in. Her eyes were wide, looking back up at the masked man.

Louis looked at Earlene, shock and confused at to what he was seeing. Rick said that there was only old folks living there. What was a little girl doing in a place like that?

"... Who are...?" Earlene took a step back from the man, shaking visibly.

Louis tried not to panic. "N-Now, wait..." He whispered, only loud enough for Earlene to hear him. "J-Just... I'm not gonna hurt ya... I-I'm not."

But, before Earlene could make a noise, Wyatt's bedroom door suddenly flew open, and delivered a sharp clout to Louis' surprised face with the metal of his bat. Earlene let out a horrified yelp, jumping when she saw her Dad attack the robber. Her sudden noise alerted all household members and robbers to take charge of the situation. Louis fell to the carpeted floor on his back with a loud thud, forehead now bleeding profusely behind the fabric of his ski-mask through a fresh, opening split in his cranium. What he saw before his dazed vision was Wyatt immediately standing over him, with the same bat lifted over his head, ready to strike again.

"W-Wait-!" But before Louis could try and plead, Wyatt started wailing down at the defenseless man with the weapon. Louis couldn't scream. His head was being pulverized into the carpet like it were a watermelon being beaten open with a hacksaw. Wyatt wasn't giving in. He continued beating in Louis' face.

And Earlene stood behind him and watched.

"Louis!" Rick screamed, with all sense of keeping quiet gone out the window. "Louis! LOUIS!"

"Wh-What's happening to Louis?!" Jason, the third neurotic man of the gang, questioned out of pure anxiety.

But before Rick could scream for Louis again, the elders' bedroom door flew open, and the two robbers were met by the barrel end of a revolver aiming right at their clothed faces the moment Russell took one step out of his bedroom doorway.

Rick panicked. "R-Run! He's armed!" Rick reluctantly ran before Jason could react to his order.

Russell fired at the dazed robber first, shooting two bullets at his left-shoulder. The bullets shredded through his skinny shoulder like drills in concrete. Jason flew back to the impact, back hitting the living room wall with a booming thud, hanging picture frames shaking violently. He let out an agonizing scream, quickly grabbing his blood-spurting shoulder as pain shot through his body like lightening.

"F-Fuck... Fuck you!" Jason whipped out his own pistol from his hip-holster, and shot a single bullet at Russell. A messy fire, but it managed to scrape deeply at the old man's forearm and throw him off balance. It scraped at his skin like a knife slicing through cleanly, to where lines of blood began to immediately spurt out madly. While Russell was distracted with pain, yelping and swearing, Jason managed to quickly gather whatever strength he had in his legs, and charge out of the farmhouse, stumbling out to the robbers' getaway truck that Rick waited for him in.

"Augh, dammit!" Russell wheezed, holding his bleeding forearm, dropping his gun. "I KNEW somethin' was a brewin'! I just knew it, Carol!"

Caroline quickly got out of the bedroom and went into the living room to get to the house phone. She heard the robbers escaping, giving her a chance to get to the phone safely and start dialing for the police.

While she did that in utmost panic in her unsteady voice, Russell looked at the end of the bedroom hall through his half-clenched eyes, seeing his Granddaughter standing there, paralyzed, with her back against the wall. Her eyes were wide, and her small hands balled up at her sides. She was staring at something.

Russell stumbled over to his mute Granddaughter, and looked into the bedroom she was staring in, and saw the horrific sight of...

"Wyatt..." Russell held his breath.

In the small bedroom, Wyatt was standing over the body of the dead robber left behind. His eyes were dilated, focused and wide, his breathing quick and heavy. There was blood on the front of his clothes, coating him in a mess of brain matter sticking on the leggings of his jeans, along with chunks of beaten-out human flesh and splatter. His tightened hand still held the end of his now partially dented-bat, smothered in dripping blood. Louis' face was beaten into the floor, covered up by the ski-mask that obscured what could have been worse to witness his lost identity.

But, with the blood pooling underneath the flattened skull, and rips of the ski-mask shredded and exposing only the caved-in brow, it was enough to say...

"What've you done, Son?" Russell asked.

Wyatt lifted his head up from staring at Louis' deformed face, and turned his body halfway to his Father and Daughter. When they saw his eyes, they were unsettled. Just looking at him now from where they stood, he didn't even look like the same Wyatt they knew.

"... He was gonna hurt Earley." Wyatt drew out his held breath, finally letting go of the metal bat. It clattered against the floor loudly, startling the two. "... I heard him talkin' to her... He was gonna hurt her..."

Earlene only looked on at her Dad with just a single thought burning into her brain for a lifetime to come. 'Dad killed someone.'

* * *

When police arrived to the scene, they were astonished to the brutality of Louis. Wyatt didn't hide it - he told police he killed the man. He knew he would be in complete trouble for this, even if it was self-defense against an intruder. Russell was taken in by ambulance, checking on his scraped arm, while another officer pulled Caroline aside to speak and get information as to what had happened that night. Wyatt was utterly silent, even when officers tried to get him to talk. He seemed stunned by what he had done. It was apparent that he was mentally scarred himself.

Earlene was sitting at the porch steps of the farmhouse, as quiet as her Dad was. Her eyes reflected his gray ones. Thoughtful, and lost. The cops had tried to talk to her, but to no prevail.

"Dad..." Earlene looked at Wyatt, still shaken, but wanting to communicate. "... I'm scared."

Wyatt looked at Earlene for a moment, before he looked away from her, nodding. "Yeah..." He looked at his still-bloodied hands. He wasn't even cleaned up.

The two were sitting in the back of a police car, having been asked to sit there and wait for one of the officers to come back and drive them to the station. The rest of the officers were inside the farmhouse, having to investigate the stolen items missing and the dead body laying in the bedroom still. Father and Daughter sat together in silence for the most part, feeling a strain in the air that made them tensed and unsure. Earlene felt it the most.

"I didn't mean to do that in front of you, Earley." Wyatt pushed back his short hair with his dirty palm. "I just... I didn't want anythin' happenin', if that guy..."

Earlene shifted uncomfortably in her seat, shaking her head. "... Dad, I'm not... I wasn't so scared of the robber... as much as I was scared of..." She gulped. "You."

This made Wyatt's eyes shift upward, taken aback.

"... I've never seen you go crazy like that before. I-I thought that, when you saw the man, you would talk him out of doin' his crime. B-But, you..." She twisted her hands together, nervously trying her best to explain what she was feeling. "... You didn't stop hittin' him, either, when he tried to talk... I-I think he was harmless, Dad... I think he was..."

"No." Wyatt locked his hands together painfully. "No, he wasn't!" He suddenly rose his voice, slamming his fist into the car window, startling Earlene. Wyatt then turned to face his Daughter, unexpectedly in the same, impulsive state of that monster he was in the house. "That man was goin' to take you away from me, and you would never come back, Earlene! Do you know how much that means to me, when you're goin' to be taken away from ME?!" His voice was roaring now, making Earlene frighteningly scoot further into the corner of her seat, feeling as if she were shrinking down the more his voice grew.

"D-Dad, y-you're freakin' me out." Earlene made a helpless plea.

Wyatt's brain had suddenly reeled back to the early time of 6 years ago, when he had screamed at Katelyn. Sights of red flowers bloomed at the back of his eyes viciously, as images of Katelyn being strangled flew through his head a mile a minute. "It ain't no crime, Earlene...!" He growled lowly and savagely like a wild animal. "... It ain't a crime that I_ killed_ a man to save _you_! I was just doin' what I could to protect you from the fuckin' bad people! That's all they want to do! JUST TAKE YOU AWAY, EARLENE! JUST SWOOP IN AND-!"

Wyatt was about to holler more, but then, he ceased when he ultimately realized how his overwhelmed Daughter was cowering in her seat, staring at him in terror.

Terror in her eyes, streaming through her blood... Something she wasn't suppose to endure from her Father.

"... I-I..." Wyatt stuttered, mentally halted himself from any further damage, covering his mouth with his hand. "E-Earley..." He backed away some, trying not to get near. "I mean... I didn't mean... Earley..." He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair in frustration at himself. Shit. This wasn't suppose to happen. "Earley..." He was quieted with the sound of Earlene's breathing becoming slightly evened out, but she still looked on at her Dad with doubt.

But before Wyatt could properly give the apology Earlene so deserved...

A rapid vehicle from out of nowhere came thundering at the police vehicle, right at the side where little Earlene was sitting at. Wyatt noticed the headlights, and grabbed at Earlene's small wrist, and tried to pull her in before the vehicle collided with the police car, but, it was too late-

_SMASH._

Wyatt could remember the feeling of his hand wrapped around Earlene's wrist release due to the collision. He could remember feeling the police car flip to the full force the counter-vehicle was driving in, and how it slammed their bodies into a tumbling mess of shattered glass and metal. Wyatt could remember his face colliding to the roof of the police car, glass shards macerate through his face's skin thoroughly, across his nose and over his eyes that were pressed shut. Yes, the pain was excruciating, numbing even, but, all he could think of was Earlene.

The hit made him black-out, with sounds outside the police car faint but apparent to his ringing ears. The counter-vehicle managed to remain on its tires, gas revving wildly as it pulled out as fast as it could, evading before police started firing at the driver. But, they did not manage to strike precisely at the person, that finally sped off in a victorious retreat. It was obvious who this person was, and what his intentions were.

"Pry open the fuckin' doors! Get those two out!" A female officer ordered out, and was heeded.

With one of the car doors not trapped against the ground, two officers pried opened the stuck doors, and found Wyatt and Earlene inside. Wyatt struggled, but not imploring for assistance. He was trying to move and find his Daughter. Before he could turn his pain-stricken neck, the two male officers grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him out together.

Once he was out, Wyatt was about to be yield by the EMT men that arrived with a stretcher, but then, he shook himself awake - as much as he could - and ripped himself out of the cops' grip.

His legs were still in good condition, somehow, and he desperately stumbled back, in a heavily delirious state of mind, to the wrecked police vehicle to find his missing girl. Even if the blood was oozing a heavy gush of thickness from his gaping slices in his face, and even if he couldn't see out of horribly damaged right-eye, and even if he couldn't speak clearly due to his crackled teeth being almost pulverized during the crash, he went back to the disaster.

"Earlene..." Wyatt called through his busted lips, using his bruised up arms to force himself up to the opened car door, and look inside. "Earley..." And what he saw was everything he had feared and dreaded.

Her body was in a mangled mess inside the car. The shards of glass pierced through her pale skin, blood oozing out of her opened cuts profusely. Her back had met the demise of the impact most - it was broke. A large piece of glass had sliced through her slim neck, killing her in the most slowest, and immense death. She was still gagging, crying the most she could through her mouthful of salivated blood-gurgles, to the bolts of pain she felt everywhere in her fragile body.

She was trying to cry for her Dad to save her.

"Earlene!" Wyatt attempted to climb back in the car, but, police men grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and forced him away. "N-NO! EARLENE!" Wyatt screamed, being hauled away by the officers. He put all his effort in running back to Earlene. "EARLENE!" He cried out. He begged them to let him go and save her, but they did not heed him. "My baby is dyin'! She needs me to help her! DON'T TAKE ME AWAY!" He screamed more, chest boiling over with mixed emotions overflowing. "Earlene! EARLENE, I'M SORRY!" He screams had exploded to those words he had wanted to say to his Daughter.

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"

* * *

"Shit! Fuckin'... shit!" Rick screamed at the top of his lungs, slamming his fist down repeatedly onto the steering wheel of the truck he and Jason had escaped in, now driving down a desserted dirt road out in the countryside still. "... Louis... He's fuckin' dead!" He hollered loudly, delivering one last punch to the steering wheel.

Jason made a jolt to the punch. "R-Rick, you shouldn't hit the wheel like that-"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT'S RIGHT AND WRONG!" Rick suddenly snapped at his Brother. "Louis is dead...! Don't you fuckin' get it, man?! Louis was killed by that fuckin' farmer-boy! I-I can't-!" Boiled over with rage, Rick was lost of words, ending his abrupt sentence with a shout. "... Shit, shit, shit..." He put a hand over his sweaty forehead, breathing heavily out of frustration.

Jason didn't know what to say else. Other than, "Rick, man... you killed those people."

"Yeah, so what of it?" Rick's voice came back to shouting, once again biting at Jason. "That farmer-boy deserved it! He took Louis from me, I take something from him! That's how life works, Jason!"

"But, you killed a... a kid, Rick!" Jason tried. "That was a helpless kid in the car I saw... And you rammed this fuckin' truck right at her! She's probably dead... maybe not... I-I don't know, but...! She's-!"

"SHUT UP!" Rick suddenly slapped his Brother across the face, hard. Jason's head snapped to the side, letting out a horrified shout. "I DON'T CARE! I JUST DON'T FUCKIN' CARE IF IT WERE A KID, OKAY?!" Rick wanted to smack his Brother again, but withdrew his raised hand and clamped it back onto the steering wheel with a heavy huff. "... Crossin' states... we gotta cross states. Get outta Wyoming..."

* * *

When Wyatt was taken away, he was transported to the hospital. The giant slashes at his face needed to be treated immediately, along with his busted teeth and sliced eye that suffered in the smash. Wyatt wouldn't stop struggling to break out, though. He wanted to see Earlene, and get her back. He repeatedly cried out for his missing Daughter, pleading to have his child back. He was still shedding the tears he hadn't exposed in eons.

Eventually, the male nurses had to subdue him with an injection of a filled-syringe of a strange medicine that would eventually calm him down. Wyatt's hammering heart was soon to slow down and lower his panic attacks, but, he still couldn't stop crying. How could he? Earlene wasn't there.

When he had pulled himself awake from a long slumber that felt like hours on end, he discovered that his face was covered in thick surgical bandages. His left-eye was covered underneath the medicine-soaked cloth, and the inside of his mouth felt numb, but invisibly functional, free of bandages. The rough and dry feeling of stitches ran along his closed gaps in his face, laced through his skin. He was not surprised enough to be stitched shut. He could only see through his right-eye, that was looking around the plain white room.

"Wyatt...?" A male doctor noticed Wyatt awake, before he had passed the opened door of his assigned room. "You're awake... and look seriously surprised by the bandages on your face, huh?" The doctor stepped into the room, pacing over to the bedside.

Wyatt said nothing, but just try to feel his face with his hands.

"You don't want to make your arms mobile just yet. They have some serious lacerations from the car wreck, and are bandaged up as well."

... That car wreck.

"Wh..." Wyatt let out an unsteady breath, looking up at the tall doctor. He tried shifting in his bed some. "Where is... Where is Earlene? Where is my daughter?"

The question took the doctor by surprise. Wyatt had just woke, and he was immediately asking for Earlene again, just like last time. But, he shut his mouth for a moment, eyes wandering elsewhere to think of what to say. He looked tense, which was what Wyatt could instantly notice from his only eye.

Instead, the doctor didn't want to make Wyatt wait forever for the answer he wanted to hear, and he told him.

"Earlene didn't survive the wreck. The impact... She is dead, Wyatt."

Wyatt was appalled, stricken once more with the guilt he felt 6 years ago. Shame clutched and tightened at his blackened heart like ropes, as he watched the doctor leave the room mute. He wanted to cry, or even scream and go nuts. Damn it, he wanted to do all three. That day on, Wyatt was never the same man.

* * *

Patient: Wyatt Hewitt. Age, 23. His height is six-two-feet, and his weight is 216 pounds in muscle. Suffering post-trauma-experience after witnessing his Daughter's death. After further studying, Wyatt is more than a quiet man. He is extremely selfish to the bone, possessive - from the way he constantly says no one should have Earlene, vengeful, stricken with anger issues, and has extreme emotional defense mechanisms of denial and projection.

"What was it like at her funeral, Wyatt?"

"... They all looked at me like I was the reason why Earley died... My relatives just kept talkin' behind my back, sayin' shit and other lies... Grandmama wouldn't comfort me, even when she knew I was there. Thought she woulda, but... I guess she wouldn't. I got these giant stitches on my face. This glass-eye, too. I hate it... Fuckin' Priest was in a fit with me, after I said a few nasty things to him..."

"Like what?"

"He asked if... I had prayed to God lately... askin' for redemption or somethin' nice. I just laughed, and laughed, in his face. I told the old man that there ain't no God above that could save me, because when my baby angel died that day, I fell straight back to Hell... sittin' my ass right in the 9th circle with that shitfaced Satan. You know how many times I screamed at the sky - at God, after hearin' Earlene passin' away? I think I screamed so much, my throat became strep and my lungs felt tight... I shoulda hollered more. Make myself stop talkin' so much..."

"Was there anything else that occurred during the event?"

"... I got into a fight with Uncle Elmer, right before the Priest-man was about to say his prayers to little Earlene. He called me a killer, a sinner, and a... a monster...! I just screamed at him back, tellin' him to don't touch me! Don't... Don't fuckin' think of bringin' all the bullshit up at my Daughter's funeral! Don't you EVER make me out as the monster! ... I didn't mean to fight at my baby's funeral... She prob'bly hates me now... Shit."

"Okay... Now, let's go through the next procedure, Wyatt." Missus Walter, his psychiatrist, said, before scribbling down information she picked up from their previous talk. "I'm going to ask you a few questions now, and you try your best to give me answers. Ready?"

Wyatt sat at the couch in the darkened office room, head hung down and hands together. It looked as if he were praying, but, he was in deep thought once more. His breathing was silent, and his eyes steady to the brown carpeted floor beneath his sneakers.

It had been about five months since Earlene's death. His scars had begun to heal behind the ugly black stitches, sincerely to his reflexology training, but would leave a hideous, hefty reminder of what was. His right-eye was not salvageable, and was now a pale blind, glass-eye with a film over it. Some of his teeth were able to be restored, but about five were missing. He felt like a deformed man, one with a lot of ugly features on the inside and out.

Wyatt wasn't paying attention to Missus Walter. He hated her dearly. He despised the woman with all his heart. Every time he heard her preach, he would feel a sudden pang of fire flaring angrily in his chest to her upbraiding words. How dare she act as if she could heal his mental wounds? How dare this woman speak as if she knew EXACTLY what he was feeling right at the moment, when it was an imparted heap of none of her Goddamn business? Wyatt just gritted his teeth together when she continued to chirp her nonsense, just staring at a blank floor, and waiting for his hour to be up.

But that was when he heard Missus Walter say a name...

'Earlene...'

"What the fuck did you just say?" Wyatt lifted his head up to the woman, eyes connecting at her startled ones. "What. The _fuck_. Did you _just_ say?" He repeated his question slowly and menacingly in a low, venomous hiss.

Missus Walter shook. This was different. Wyatt never snapped at her before. But, she recollected her posture, trying not to look frightened. "I asked... how did you react when you heard the news of Earlene-"

"DON'T SAY HER NAME!" Wyatt shot up from his seat of the couch, overshadowing Missus Walter with his fists squeezed tight, enough to hear his skin strain. "You don't fuckin' talk like you know me, _okay_?! I don't need some fuckin' "professional" to talk to me like I'm stupid! I know what happened! MY LITTLE GIRL **DIED**, AND YOU WANT TO MAKE ME IMAGINE HER DEAD FACE AGAIN, **DON'T YOU**?!" Wyatt's mind was statically impaired and his words were a jumbled mess of pure rage. "You don't even have a child! You don't know what it's fuckin' like to **lose a child**! It's not a fuckin' joke! DON'T LOOK AT ME **_LIKE THAT_**!"

Without thinking first, he delivered a back-hand smack to the psychiatrist's face. He hit her firmly enough to make her head snap to the side, and yelp out from the blow.

The yelling could be heard outside by another male psychiatrist. The man burst into the office, and found Wyatt ready to throw a punch at the defenseless woman. Immediately, the male psychiatrist ran at Wyatt and tackled him, throwing him off balance and both falling to the floor. Wyatt made a pained grunt, feeling his arms sting to the feeling of hitting the floor. They were still sensitive. But, it didn't stop him on attacking the rescuer.

He may have been another man, but this psychiatrist wasn't physically strong as Wyatt was to fight back for his life. Wyatt took advantage of the older man on the floor, climbing on top of him fast, straddling him down, and grabbed a fallen coffee mug from the floor, and started slamming the glass object into his face.

"Wyatt! Wyatt, stop it!" Missus Walter tried screaming at Wyatt to make him snap out of it, holding her hand over her bruising cheek. But, her voice did not reach him. She immediately went for the office phone, and started dialing for the police, as she helplessly listened to the appalling noises of Wyatt's blows colliding with the other man's face, with sounds of bone-crunches breaking out, glass crackling to the hits, and knuckles hammering through a bone-plate.

The sound of a police man's voice booming over the phone-line finally broke Wyatt's trance, his eyes out of his blinding-red state. Missus Walter was calling the fuzz.

Wyatt dropped the injured man down to the floor and leaped back up to his feet, bolting out the office as fast as he could.

Wherever he could possibly run and hide was good enough for him. The first place he could think of was the woods, outside of the nearly rural city he was visiting earlier for his weekly sessions. It was a familiar area he could navigate himself through.

In the woods, Wyatt just sat in the depths of the swampy location, swearing and bullying himself for what he had foolishly done to Missus Walter.

'This wasn't suppose to happen,' he told himself repeatedly, hitting a tree trunk next to him with an agitated fist. How could this happen? Why was he suddenly getting static in the situation, as if HE were the bad guy?! It wasn't his fault those idiotic burglars had to waltz in to his life and fuck up everything. It wasn't his fault that he wanted to kill the robber in order to protect Earlene...

Wyatt chuckled to himself, grinning savagely, out of pure spite. He was so mad, he was _smiling_!

He could recall the talk he heard from two police officers at the station beforehand.

Those two burglars... Rick and Louis... they were cousins. Real close, too, more like Brothers. No wonder Rick would want to have complete revenge on Wyatt for beating Cousin Louis to death. That third guy, Jason, was also related to the two... Brothers in crime, together.

_"The bastards got their way out, before we could obtain 'em." One officer sighed in frustration. "Reckon their crossin' states, tryin' to become invisible."_

_"Maybe their headin' to Arizona? Montana? Nebraska? There's dozens of good places to hide, just neighborin' Wyoming..."_

_"Whatever state them runners are in, we've gotta track 'em down. Sicko killed a kid, man..."_

_"Feel bad for the Father there," the second officer whispered his sentence, eyeing Wyatt for a brief moment. "Prob'ly goin' nuts."_

_"Psh," the first officer scoffed. "He's a killer, too, Henry. Don't feel bad for any of 'em. Even for a _good_ reason. Murder ain't the answer for everythin'."_

Once again, Wyatt just smirked bitterly and made a hard scoff to the thought. He wouldn't know what it's like to have a Brother, but he didn't give a crap. He wanted the remaining Brothers dead.

Oh, was that it? People just wanted to look at Wyatt like HE was a criminal, too? For killing someone's Brother? Even when he was about to be robbed and handled by a bunch of dangerous juveniles in his own home? That it just SUDDENLY gave Rick all the rights to slam his truck into the copper's car, and kill his baby girl?

And Wyatt was just suppose to let it go...? Accept it?

'Folks are just so fuckin'... rotten. Just so Goddamn stupid... They don't even know who to blame!' He said to himself mentally, as the muffled sounds of police sirens blared out through his plugged ears, passing the woods by pure luck. 'They should all fuckin' die... none of them deserve to live for makin' me leave Earlene! All of them! All of them, DIE!' He slammed his fists on his knees hard. 'Police don't fuckin' get it, either...! But I get it...'

Wyatt slowly stood up from the boulder he sat upon and pulled his beige hoodie over his head. He could smell the upcoming rain. Wyatt rubbed a weary hand over his face, his palm brushed over his thick stitches, wincing when they stung. "Augh!" He drew his hand back, looking down at his sin-filled hand. He looked down to the large swamp water, at his mangled face's reflection. "A mask..." He grimaced. "I need a mask... Something to cover this ugly-ass face..." He growled through his teeth.

But this new Wyatt knew that he had to leave everything behind. His parents, his home, and his entire life... No, no. It all wouldn't matter in the end! It had already been sabotaged the moment he struck at his psychiatrist! The moment he went and murdered Louis! The very moment he killed Katelyn years ago...!

"I'm gonna find that sick fucker that killed Earlene, and I'm gonna ripped him open. Skin him up, like that fat hog Mister Hooves, and serve his meat on a silver platter to all those shitfaced people that'll eat it. I'm gonna hang him up by his intestines and make all the crows devour him! It'd be so simple, too!" He once again made that twisted grin on his stitched-up face. "No one's gonna get in my way. I'm goin' to get my revenge, Rick... whether you like it or not, buddy-boy..."

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading! :) This was a big project on one person, but it was fun to write and edit. Remember, I do not own Hoodie, or the Creepypasta of him. I am just a spectator wondering about his unknown background that wasn't seriously cleared out. Yes, I know he has an origin story already, but I wanted to make it a more-depth tale. Bringing to the fact of what would happen if you were as selfish and greedy like Hoodie. It makes you a monster._


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